


Not One For Words

by foxy_mulder



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Can be read as gen or slash, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxy_mulder/pseuds/foxy_mulder
Summary: Jack has never been one for words.





	

Jack was never one for words. 

He preferred the intimacy of touch, and chose his words carefully when he did speak. This normally was not a problem, as he was not close to many people, being on the road so much.

But then, there were _some_ he was close to.

 

The Scotsman, for example, who was currently carrying him. Jack jostled back and forth on his shoulder as he ran, frantically shouting words of assurance.

"Don't worry, Jack, we're gonna get help, you're gonna be fine, you basket headed bone-ass."

It wasn't all that comforting, really, because Jack could feel the coldness seeping into his limbs and the blood seeping through his makeshift bandage to create a puddle on the Scotsmans shirt. Surely he could feel it through the fabric. Surely he knew the untruth in his comforts. The Scotsman was one of the most brutally honest people he knew, yet this time he felt the need to lie.

That scared Jack about his prospects.

They were deep in the woods. There were no nearby towns.

"Well, there's a cave, thank fuck," the Scotsman set him down more gently than Jack thought him capable. He tore off the soaked bandages and examined the wound. They had been fighting a giant bear-creature earlier, and it had slashed Jack across the midsection. It was pale and still slowly oozing blood, with no sign of stopping.  
Jack pressed on it to slow the bleeding, but his arms were weak enough now that it made little difference. It looked like he may not make it out of this one.

The Scotsman knew. Of course. And so after awhile he began to speak.

"Jack, you know, we've been through a lot together, I just want you to know that you're the ballsiest little fella I ever saw. And one of the smartest. I want you- I want you to know I love you, alright?"

He was tearing up.

Jack realized with a jolt that this could be his last chance to return the sentiment. He was not sure he could accurately express it. Of course he felt the same; this brash, rude, loud, incredibly brave and emotional man was one of his most trusted friends. Of course he loved him. 

But he had no words for it, especially not now. He always just showed the Scotsman love through actions- fighting for him, saving his life. But he had no strength for heroics now. It would have to be something smaller.

Jack took a shuddering breath and reached out his hand, threading his thin fingers into the Scotsmans larger ones. He squeezed his hand weakly. 

If Jack died tonight, his last words would be spoken through his hands. Nimble, pale, wiry wrist, strong but lean from battle, covered in small scars. 

His wrist rested against a muscled, hairy one, chapped and calloused and unkempt.

Well trimmed fingernails on long fingers entwined rough, yellow nails on tough fingers.  
_I love you too, I love you so much, I love you..._

This display was Jacks confession of love, a language all his own. Maybe the Scotsman would understand.


End file.
